Page 50 of Banished From the Pack

“A story?” I ask, trying not to sound incredulous. “I’m not the bedtime story type of guy.”

“Good thing it’s not bedtime,” she says, squirming onto her back in my arms. “Tell me what it was like growing up out here, away from the swamp.”

I push her long, purple hair away from her face. “Where’s this coming from?”

“I don’t know,” she says. “I want to know more about you—all of you boys.”

I sigh and roll onto my back, my arm still pillowing her head. “That’s not something I do, pup. Think about the past. That shit is dead and gone.”

“Then it’ll be easy to talk about.” Her lips curve in the sweetest smile, one that blow-torches my walls into ash.

I continue to finger strands of her silken hair, steeling myself to dredge up memories of our childhood. Any other woman asked me this, I’d tell her to fuck off and mind her business. But Luna’s not any woman. “What do you want to know, pup?”

“Whatever you see fit to share,” she says. Her head nestles into my chest, and I swear I’ve died and gone to the place in the sky that men like me don’t ever go.

“Well, our daddy was a real son of a bitch. How’s that?”

She curls her small fingers into my little patch of chest hairs and tugs. “More.”

“Ouch,” I say, laughing and grabbing her hand. “I’m already injured, and I might die of blue balls this very night. I don’t need my chest hairs pulled out, too.”

“I’m sorry,” she coos, stroking her small hand over my pecs. “What’s blue balls?”

“Never you mind, pup,” I say. “But keep plucking my nipple like that and you’re going to find out how it feels when I empty them.”

“Oh!” she says, pulling her hand away, her cheeks turning a shade of pink that makes me want to simultaneously wrap her up in a protective hug and fuck her pretty little mouth until tears run down her cheeks from gagging on my cock until she can’t breathe. My head is so fucking confused, I don’t know what’s what.

She lays her gentle hand on the center of my chest. “Is this okay?”

God, my fucking chest aches with her sweetness. “Yeah,” I say, covering her hand with mine. “It’s more than okay.”

“Will you tell me?” she asks. “I’ve told all y’all about life in the swamp with Mama.”

I take a few seconds to conjure up something to say about dear old dad. It’s the last thing I want to talk about, but pleasing her wins out over not wanting to rehash this old shit. “He really was a rotten son of a bitch,” I say after a minute. “Mean as a snake. He fixed rich people’s pools and did upkeep on them… Same kind of thing we do, but more steady, less odd jobs. According to his drunk ass, it was all our fault that he wasn’t living in one of them fancy houses with a pool.”

“Why?”

I shrug and caress her silky skin to keep myself busy while I get this out of the way. “He got meaner the deeper into goblin juice he got. We all had our way of dealing with him. Warrick, he got real quiet, same way he does now when he’s simmering on something. Callan always tried to be the perfect son to keep him from having something to go after us for, picking up our room and helping our mama and shit like that. And me…” I let out a bitter chuckle. “I tried to lighten the mood, maybe tell a joke and get him laughing.”

“Why’d you need to joke?” she says, tracing circles along my belly that have my cock dancing in the wet jeans I’m still wearing after our bath.

“Dad was always pissed when he came home drunk because he couldn’t find goblin blood and tried to kill the craving with booze. Those times were the worst.” My forehead furrows, and a few emotional rocks land on my chest as I imagine Dad’s foul temper. “I learned early there was one way to cool his temper, and that was to get him laughing. Otherwise, he’d take out his anger on us with a two-by-four—that’+-s a piece of wood, in case you wondered. It was best to get him laughing before that happened.”

My whole body tenses with the memory, and I stop moving my hand against her arm. Skipping down memory lane is twisting my insides into knots.

“Ethan,” she says, her voice choked. “That sounds awful.”

“That’s why I hate talking about this shit,” I say. “But don’t go feeling sorry for me. It was nothing compared to what you went through out there with just your mama. And it wasn’t all bad. I felt real proud when I could get Dad to laugh before he walloped us. I protected all four of us if I got him laughing. That’s when I knew I did good, that we’d all be alright. Warrick and Mama and Callan all looked at me like I was their fuckin’ savior, I tell you. That’s about the best feeling in the world.”

The distant whine and snarl of motorcycle engines drifts through the open window.

“Shit, Luna. Get up and get dressed. We’ve got five minutes, tops.”

She scrambles from the bed. “Why? What’s happening?”

“My brothers are happening.” Shame nooses my insides at taking advantage of Luna.

“Callan said he promised you,” she says, pulling on a new shirt from the pile Warrick bought her. “What did he promise?”